[ Peter winces sympathetically when the guy crashes to the floor. That shit hurt, he remembers without a trace of fondness. When Rocket chuckles, Peter frowns disapprovingly at him. ]

You've got issues, dude.

[ He mumbles it with a touch of good humor, though, and waits for Rocket to hop off before standing. He snags a roll of gauze from a nearby first-aid kit before he jumps over the counter again (because fuck doors), striding toward their bomber before he can regain control of his faculties. Rolling him onto stomach, and using the gauze to tie his hands behind his back. Peter calls over his shoulder to Rocket, ]

I'm callin' the cops to make the proper arrest. You've probably got about ten minutes to kick his ass before they show up, if you wanted to actually kick his ass.